The Face of Death
by itstartedasawhisper
Summary: Death takes the figure of the dying's most beloved to great his victims and Harry Potter has chosen an interesting figure. And even more interesting memories. Rated T for very vague mentions of sex and even vaguer mentions of self-harm. Little baby One-shot.


The Face Of Death

A lone, cloaked figure walked down the street, head down, clothes dry, even though it was pouring. He had long, pale fingers and his face was covered by a dark hood. He had an intimidating air about him, much like that of a pompous prince. The figure walked quickly, as he had many places to be, many faces to become, and many souls to take.

For this figure was Death himself.

And Death had a very special celebrity to...tend to this evening. The Boy Who Lived had finally come to die.

Now, Death was not like the old folklores described him. Death had no one true face or figure; he simply took the form of the person the dying loved most. And Mr. Potter had chosen quite the figure.

Death finally reached Number 12 Grimwald Place, the home of the Chosen One for the past seventy-four years, and glided effortlessly into the dimly lit hallway. His victim was close; Death was beginning to see the Savior's life unfold further and further as he got closer and closer to Potter.

Of course, the memories started with his birth, which then took him through Harry's first steps, first broom, first words. Then Halloween. Two flashes of green light burst into little Harry's room, changing his life forever. Death saw Harry get abused and harassed by his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He felt Harry's joy when he found out he was a wizard. He saw the wonder and magic of Diagon Alley through the eleven-year-old's brilliant green eyes.

Death went all through Hogwarts with Harry, seeing the stone, battling the Basilisk, saving Sirius, watching Voldemort come back, hearing the Prophecy. In Harry's sixth year, Death assumed that he would experience Dumbledore's death, but instead he saw a figure's chest burst open in a sea of blood, and felt an aching guilt in his stomach.

_Curious_, Death thought, _very curious._

The flashes resumed as Death continued his leisurely stroll to Harry's room on the third floor.

Death of course saw Voldemort's demise, and felt Harry's relief as he watched the Dark Lord die. Yet he got another image as well. This was one of that same boy, whose chest had exploded, curled up on the couch Death had past in the living room, blood flowing from his wrists as Harry tried to focus long enough to stop it. He did and the boy curled up in Harry's lap as Harry stroked through the figure's hair.

It was now Harry's eighth and last year. Many emotions ran through these moments, yet none more prominent than love. These images were short and moved quickly along Death's vision. That boy and Potter laughing in a bar, shopping in a candy store and feeding each other treats, kissing by a lake, holding each other as the other cried in his sleep, and making love.

The school years were through, yet that same boy was still there with Harry, living in his house, sleeping in his bed. Memories of a trial, a wedding, a birth of a first born son, and sending said son off to school entered Death's mind, all filled with that same boy and the emotion that went with him. As years past, memories became shorter and farther apart as Harry's life began to come to an end, that same boy was always at Harry's side, smiling lovingly at him.

Then the last memory, from just three weeks ago. The boy who had loved and lived with Harry for seventy-five years died of old age. Death chuckled slightly. That boy had been through so much, and yet the flashes Death had seen were the same as Harry's. Death had taken Harry's figure for the boy, who was of course a man now, and his in his dying breath, still declared his love for his Savior.

_It is time now, Harry, to see your angel once again_, Death whispered as he opened the door to Harry's room.

Harry was pale, and looked as though he hadn't eaten anything since the funeral. He was snoring softly and had a small smile on his face as death approached the queen sized bed, probably dreaming of his angel. He shook Harry lightly, just enough to wake him but not startle him.

Harry opened his bright green eyes and met a pair of liquid silver ones. No longer was his angel's hair thin and silver, as it had been when he died. Now it was platinum blonde and his bangs fell slightly over those hypnotizing eyes. He looked like he was eighteen again, with a strong yet slender frame and a smirk across his lips that made Harry giggle a little. Harry craned his neck upwards slightly and captured the angel's lips in a soft and final kiss. He broke away and smiled softly as he spoke his final words.

"Draco, my dragon, my love."

With that, Death lifted Harry's soul and carried it with him as he ascended upwards. But as he left, Death realized he didn't have Harry's heart. In place of his own, Harry was holding Draco Potter's. And waiting for him somewhere above, Draco Potter still held Harry's.

All was well.


End file.
